


por qué su poesía no nos habla del sueño

by Chash



Series: todo lo que me pasa [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Compliant, F/M, Pre-Relationship, Season/Series 05 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 11:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14448006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Clarke Griffin wakes up in another world.





	por qué su poesía no nos habla del sueño

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a quick, fun crackfic that I could write to keep up the tradition of posting on my birthday, where modern AU Bellamy met canon Clarke and was like, I'm weirdly into that, but current canon isn't great for fun or crack so instead we got this. I tagged it with spoilers for season five to be on the safe side, but I don't think it gives away much more information about the canon situation than we saw at the end of season four.
> 
> Title adapted from "Explico Algunas Cosas" by Pablo Neruda; translated it means "why his poetry does not speak to us of the dream."

The first thing Clarke notices when she wakes up is that she's not in the rover. She's in a bed, but it's not the one she had in Eden, either. It's something soft and warm, impossibly large, comfortable like nothing she's ever slept in before. Not even Mount Weather felt this opulent, and as soon as she has that thought, her eyes snap open and she's on her feet, looking around at--

A room. A _real_ room, the kind she's seen in old TV shows and movies, back when she watched them on the Ark. There are framed photographs on the walls and a phone on the nightstand, vibrating and playing a song she doesn't know.

She grabs that first, before it falls off, and sees that it's 8:15, and an alarm says it's time for work.

"What the fuck," she says, under her breath, and tells the phone to stop.

Once it's quiet, she has a chance to look around more, stalking the unfamiliar area, waiting for the explanation. Her first, wild thought is that it's ALIE, that she somehow got chipped again and she's back in the City of Light, but that can't be right. ALIE is gone, and even if she wasn't, there wasn't any time for her to get chipped. She went to sleep with Madi, the same as always, and--

Fuck, _Madi_. She has to get out of here.

Her first instinct is to go looking for her immediately, but she's wearing nothing but an over-sized t-shirt with an odd graphic that looks like a couple winged w's on it; she should at least find _clothing_ before she runs off half-cocked. And as long as she's alone and safe, she should get as much information as she can.

She still has the phone, and that seems like a good place to start. When she touches the only button she can see at the bottom, it turns back on, showing an image of--she swallows hard--her and Raven and _Wells_ , all three of them grinning at her.

It opens up, the display populating with a bunch of unlabeled icons, most of which she can't even begin to figure out. But one has a picture of a phone, and when she opens that up, it brings her to a list of favorite contacts. 

Looking at the list, it's like getting punched in the neck, like the cruelest joke imaginable: Bellamy, Mom, Raven. It's a wishlist, a fantasy, like someone opened up her chest and pried names out of her heart.

Her thumb hits Bellamy's name without her brain's input, and she drops the phone in shock as the screen changes.

She hears the ringing in stereo, a tinny sound on the floor and a louder sound from another room, some other part of this place she's found herself in.

The ringing stops, and she hears, "Why the fuck are you calling me?" 

It's Bellamy. It's not even Bellamy _on the phone_ ; he hung up, and he's calling her from somewhere else, somewhere close. Right _here_. Wherever she is, he is too, and that's it.

It's not accurate to say she forgets how she's dressed or how confusing everything is; _forget_ doesn't feel like a strong enough word. The world outside of the fact that Bellamy is close enough he can call to her stops existing. 

She flings the door open and runs out, but actually seeing him stops her short again. He's dressed in a worn white t-shirt and soft-looking pants, nothing she's ever seen him in before, and when he turns he has glasses, but she can't care about that yet. It's _Bellamy_ , undeniably, unmistakably, his hair a mess like it always was right after he woke up. He looks older, like--like he would, if this was--if he's--

"Bellamy," she breathes, and throws herself into his arms.

He staggers a little, like the first time she hugged him, and when he hugs back, it's not the same. He's hesitant, a little confused, patting her back like he thinks she might need comfort but doesn't know why.

She buries her face against his neck, not even trying not to cry. He smells like himself, like sweat and something bright and primal, earth and sunshine. Everything she's been missing.

"Uh, hey," he says. "Did you--have a bad dream?" 

Her laugh comes out wet and short, little more than a release of air with a slight tone. "I have no idea what's happening," she admits, but he's _here_. If this is the City of Light, Bellamy got chipped too, which means he's _alive_ , and they can figure this out together.

"That makes two of us." He squeezes her one last time and then pulls back to look at her, which means she can look at him too. In addition to the glasses, he's grown some facial hair. But there are the freckles on his cheeks and that scar on his lip, all the familiar things, perfect in every detail, even if he's changed. "What's wrong?"

She opens and closes her mouth, not even sure where to start. They're in some sort of home, small, probably an apartment, and Bellamy was making coffee, she can smell it. They're getting ready for work, based on her alarm. She exists here, and he exists here, but he knows where they are. This is a normal morning for him, and it's not for her.

"I don't know where to start."

"Is it your mom? Did something happen?"

"My _mom_ ," she says, wind knocked out of her all over. "My mom's here too. And Wells."

Bellamy puts his hand on her forehead. "Are you sick? What are you--"

"I'm not--your Clarke."

It's maybe not the smartest thing to say. If this isn't her Bellamy, he's going to think she's insane. He's probably going to think she's a monster, if she tells him who she is, what she's done.

But he's still _Bellamy_ , and that means he's her ally, her best friend, the single bright point of reference that's kept her going for six years. If she can't trust him, she can't trust anyone.

"You're not what?" he asks, flat, crossing his arms over his chest, so familiar she might cry again.

If this is a dream, it's a gift. But she dreams of him all the time, and it's never like this. He's never so solid, and she's never so lucid. 

"I don't know where we are right now," she says. "I don't know--" She scrubs her face, taking deep breaths to keep her emotions in check. It's just too much. "I haven't seen you for six years and twelve days, Bellamy. Or my mom, or Raven, and--Wells _died_. You and Raven are in space, my mom is in a bunker we can't dig out, and I--"

"Hey," he says, voice pitched low and gentle. "Breathe. You should--give me your phone."

It's not what she expected. "My phone?"

"I'm going to text your supervisor and let her know you're not coming in today. You should sit down, have some coffee."

"I haven't had caffeine in years," she says, with a small smile. "I don't know what it would do to my system."

Somehow, that seems to be what gets him. Only now does he look spooked. "You don't want coffee?"

"I haven't had coffee since the Ark."

"Jesus," he says. Clarke recognizes the oath, but it's odd to hear from _Bellamy_ ; his interest in mythology had favored Greco-Roman, not Judeo-Christian. "Okay. Go sit down. I'll give you--water? Are you hungry? Get your phone and we'll figure this out."

As fucked up as it is, she has to bite back on her smile. Bellamy's here, and even if he's not the exact Bellamy she lost, he feels like _himself_. Taking care of her, making sure she has everything she needs. It's not the same, but it's so much more than she thought she'd get ever again. If nothing else, it's a chance to say goodbye.

That's not a constructive thought to have right now, and she pulls her mind away from it, looking back through the door to the kitchen so she can watch Bellamy puttering around. She should be taking this time to look around the dwelling, to figure things out, but she can just ask him. And she can't get enough of the sight of him, alive and solid and close enough to be so, so comforting.

He brings out two mugs, one for himself and one for her, both steaming, and then a plate with some fruit on it.

"We can do real breakfast later, but I figured you wanted to talk first," he says.

"You're taking this well," she says, picking up the mug he put in front of her. It smells bright and floral, with a hint of mint. "What is this?"

"Tea. Herbal, so there's no caffeine. Your favorite," he adds. "As of yesterday."

"Thank you."

"I'm not the one having a psychotic break," he says, mouth twitching at the corner. "Seriously, Clarke, what's going on?"

"I don't know." She blows on the tea and then takes a sip; it could be her favorite. It's delicious. "When I went to sleep last night, I was in a rover with Madi, hiding from a bunch of people who want to kill us. Do I still know Madi?"

She can't read his expression, but that's not really a surprise. It must sound unreal to him. They have jobs he's sending texts to about how they can't come in; it's so _mundane_. This version of Bellamy probably hasn't ever been scared for his life. He probably hasn't ever killed anyone.

"You do, yeah," he says, finally. "We've been talking about if we can move to a bigger place and so you can get her out of foster care yourself." When she frowns, he clears his throat, leans forward. "You really don't know what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"No." He sighs. "Okay, so--you're Clarke Griffin, right?"

"Yeah."

"Twenty-four years old."

She actually has to do the math. "Yeah."

"We met in college."

"No."

"No?"

"We don't have college anymore. We met--" She bites the corner of her mouth, trying to figure out where to start. "What year is it?"

"What _year_?"

"Somewhere around the turn of the millennium?" she guesses. It doesn't seem that close to the end of the world.

"Twenty-eighteen," he says. "Why, what year do you think it is?"

It feels cruel, to tell him. Maybe he's just a dream or a figment of her imagination or something else equally unreal, but even if he is, he shouldn't have the burden of knowing when the world will end, not exactly. 

Then again, maybe he could stop it. Maybe this Bellamy and this Clarke could stop ALIE before she ever has a chance to do the damage she does. Or maybe there is no ALIE in this world; it's hard to believe there was ever a Clarke Griffin living with a Bellamy Blake in her own 2018; it's way too much of a coincidence.

"About two-hundred years after that," she says finally. "After--two apocalypses."

" _Two_?" he asks.

"One's coming up in forty years. If this is the same world as mine."

"Cool, I've got time to plan." He rubs his face. "So, you're from the future, but you still know me, in the future. How did we meet?"

"We grew up on a space station, and got sent back to Earth to see if humans could live there again. I was seventeen, you were--" She makes a face, trying to remember if Bellamy actually ever told her how old he was. Over eighteen, a good few years older than Octavia, but the exact number never seemed important.

"I'm four and a half years older than you are," he says. "Here."

"That sounds about right, yeah."

"You were seventeen when we met too," he says, clearing his throat. "I started college late because I had to take care of my sister. Octavia?"

She has to smile. "I know Octavia, yeah." It's hard to imagine him without her, although of course that's how he's been, for six years.

The Bellamy who comes down from space, if he ever does come down, might be even less familiar than this one. But if this is anything to go by, he'll still be Bellamy. That's a comfort.

He nods. "You weren't a student yet, just on a campus tour I was giving. I actually forgot about it, but we were in a class together your freshman year and reminded me."

"And now we're--roommates?" It seems right, but he was awake before she was. Maybe it's just _their_ bed, and he's--

"Yeah," he says, cutting the thought off before it can fully form in Clarke's mind. "You moved back for grad school, posted on Facebook looking for a roommate, and Miller had just moved in with his boyfriend, so--"

That name takes a minute. "Bryan?"

He laughs. "You're a few years late for Bryan. Do you know Monty?"

"Wow, Miller and Monty? I wouldn't have thought of that one." She bites the corner of her mouth. "How's Jasper?"

"Fine? We don't see him much, but we're supposed to be going to his wedding in a few months."

"That's good."

Bellamy pauses, shifts a little, taking a piece of fruit and a sip of coffee before he says, "I feel like I don't want to hear how life is where you're from."

"Probably not."

Another pause, and he looks down at his hands. "Six years and twelve days?"

"Yeah."

"When are you going to see me again?"

She swallows hard, past the lump in her throat. "I don't know. You were supposed to be back after five years. I don't even know if you're--"

He takes the tea out of her hands, gentle, as her voice dies, and then he tugs her in, holding her close as she buries her face against his chest, not quite crying, just trying to get her breathing under control.

"I didn't think I was ever going to see you again," she admits.

She feels his nose against her hair. "Sorry I'm not yours," he says. "But--we met at about the same time as we did in your time, right? And we're the same ages. So maybe if I'm here, that means your Bellamy is there too."

"There are plenty of people who are here who aren't alive when I'm from."

He rubs her back. "Okay, well--I could still be alive. And if I am, I'm trying to get back to you, however I can."

"You don't know I'm alive either. But you'd be trying to get back to your sister."

"Where's my sister?"

"In a bunker with twelve-hundred other survivors. My mom, Miller--Marcus Kane?"

"Your mom's second husband here."

"I guess it would be too much if my dad was still alive too."

She thinks he kisses her hair. "Maybe this is just the universe deciding you need a break, Clarke. It sounds like you've had a pretty shitty alternate life. We can just sit on the couch and watch TV and you can call everyone you want to talk to again."

"Wouldn't that be weird for them?"

"They'll get over it." He moves a little, and she remembers that she's still got her face buried against his chest. She doesn't really want to disentangle herself, but she doesn't want him to feel uncomfortable, either. And it's not as if she's really been alone for six years; she's had Madi, and she and Madi have always been affectionate.

But Bellamy was the last person to offer _her_ support, the last person she could lean on when she was upset. Madi is her responsibility, and that meant she couldn't just break down. She had to be strong.

"We should order breakfast," he says, his arm still firmly around her. "There's this place that does awesome pancakes that we get when we're too hung over to cook for ourselves. And it's Friday, so we can have people over to play some games or something. You can pass for--yourself. I'll fill you in on relationships and details. And you can call your mom about--" He seems to be thinking it over. "The Fourth of July."

She frowns, trying to remember what that is. "Holiday?"

"Yeah. You don't work, we went to their place last year. It's coming up in a few months, and it's on a Monday, so we could ask if we could stay for the weekend."

She doesn't mention it then, but that's when it snags her attention, when the worry that's been in the backseat of her mind for six years bubbles to the surface.

Instead, they get breakfast, and Clarke has to eat it slowly, carefully. It's more food than she's had in years, and richer, and the last thing she wants to do is throw up. Bellamy watches her with a strange kind of fascination, for which she can't blame him. She must be so different from this other Clarke, the one he lives with. She must seem like a wild animal to him.

"Do I have a boyfriend?" she asks. She doesn't remember the exact history of sexuality-based oppression in the United States, but she's not sure if she would have openly had a girlfriend in 2018, or if she even would have realized she liked women as well. It doesn't seem worth it to risk asking.

"No. You've been single for about a year, since you and Lexa broke up."

She swallows hard; that answers that question. "Broke up?"

"Yeah. Are you two still--"

She shakes her head. "She died."

"Shit. She doesn't live around here, but if you wanted to call her--"

"No, I think that would--" She can't even imagine it; it would be too much to deal with on top of everything. "Is she happy?"

"Yeah. She reconnected with a girl she was dating in high school, Costia. They're doing really well."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Girlfriend?"

"Oh, uh, no. Not for a while."

"Did we ever--"

She's grateful he doesn't make her finish. "No. How about in your time?"

"No." She worries her lip, but--he's not _her_ Bellamy. It's safe, right? She can tell this one, and hers won't know. "I wish we had. I think it might be too late."

"He could still be alive."

"He could. But--we didn't even know each other for that long," she says, finally letting out the anxiety. "We didn't like each other for a solid month. I know it's not that long, but--we didn't have that many months. Even if he does come back, I don't know what we're going to be like."

He's quiet long enough she worries, and when he speaks, his voice is soft. "I don't know your Bellamy, but, uh--I've been in love with my Clarke for a long time. It didn't take nine months. And as soon as I saw her again after college, as soon as she moved in, I was sure. I wasn't just going to fall out of love with her, ever."

"But you haven't told her."

He sighs. "It's fucking scary. Telling someone who means that much to you how you feel. I tried, once," he adds. "Before I graduated. I was leaving, and I thought I might never see her again, and I just felt like--she should know, I guess. But she didn't want to hear it."

She remembers him on the beach, looking at her with determination in her jaw, trying to give her the last message she wasn't ready to hear. Because that couldn't be the last time she saw him, it couldn't. 

And it wasn't. But he never did tell her what he wanted to say. She might never know for sure.

She leans her head on his shoulder, this parallel version of the person she wants to see more than anyone in the world. "I think you should tell her."

" _Hey, this is going to sound crazy, but an alternate universe version of you said she wanted to hook up with an alternate universe version of me, so_ \--"

"That's not what I want," she says, and he sobers.

"I know." He wets his lips, leans back into her. "I hope we both get it."

"Yeah," she says. "Me too."

*

The party is only six people, but it's still overwhelming, like sitting down to dinner with ghosts, even though Gina is the only one there who's actually dead to her, at least as far as she knows. And she never met Gina in her own world, so it's still more like a meeting a stranger.

Seeing Raven again, though, and Monty and Miller, that's hard, somehow even harder than seeing Bellamy. The more people there are, the less real it feels, and the more real she wants it to be. She could stay here, couldn't she? This Clarke is studying to be a social worker, has an internship working with Jackson, has a whole happy life ahead of her. Madi is even here, waiting to be adopted. Her friends are alive. Bellamy loves some version of her; if he never got hers back, he could settle for her, the same way she could settle for him. They're close enough to the same people that it could work.

She could be happy here, in a way that she couldn't ever be happy in her own world, even if everything was going well and everyone she loved came back to her. 

But she could have been happy in Mount Weather, too, if she just could have forgotten all her friends and all her responsibilities. It's a comfort to think that there's a version of her life where she's happy, where she and Bellamy live together and are stumbling towards more, where she has game nights with her friends and holidays with her mother.

But it's not _her_ life, and these aren't _her_ people. Her people still need her, even if she only has one person left in the whole world. She could never forget that. She has to figure out how to get back to her.

Bellamy hugs everyone before they leave, so it's not weird for Clarke to do it too. She hugs Raven, Monty, and Miller too tightly, but they don't seem to think too much of it, just hug her back and leave with smiles.

Their lives are so _easy_. They have it so good. 

"Do you think you switched places?"

Clarke blinks. "What?"

"You and my Clarke. Do you think--" He swallows hard. "She'll be okay, right?"

It hadn't even occurred to her, that this other Clarke might be in her place. It should have, probably, but she had enough going on without worrying about that.

"Madi won't let anything happen to her."

Bellamy doesn't look comforted. " _Madi_ won't? Is she a lot older in your time?"

"No. But she's been fighting for her whole life."

"Fuck, I'm sorry."

She shrugs. "The last six years could have been worse. Lonely, but--she wasn't in danger. I'm glad I taught her to fight, though. She's using it now."

"I can't believe you're teaching people to fight."

"You're the one who taught me how to shoot a gun," she tells him, smiling, and he shakes his head.

"You could teach me, and then we'd be even."

"If I'm here long enough, sure."

"I'm good. Shooting ranges freak me out. Too many guys who are convinced they need guns to protect them from guys who look like me." He glances at her sidelong. “I feel bad for hoping you go back soon. It doesn’t sound like a great life, but--at least you know what you're doing.”

“It’s my life,” she says. “I want to go back too.”

“Yeah.” He looks like he wants to say something more, but she’s not sure what. He settles for, “You should FaceTime Wells.”

She’s mostly been able to figure out terminology she doesn’t understand from context, but this one is a little dicey. “FaceTime?”

He takes her phone from her and opens up her contacts again. “It’s like calling, but you’ll be able to see him. You can do him and then your mom. If you think it’ll help.”

A phone that can call the dead; what a concept. “I think I want to,” she says, and he shows her how.

Wells picks up almost immediately, his face clouded in confusion. He looks good, older and more solid, the person she wanted him to become. The sight of him makes her ache in a place she didn't know even existed.

“Hey, what’s up? Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she manages. “Just wanted to talk.”

“Are you drunk?”

The answer comes strangely easily, across centuries and lifetimes. “Do I have to be drunk to call you?”

He snorts. “You don’t have to, but judging from previous experience, you usually are.”

“I’m barely drunk.”

“There it is. How are you?”

Bellamy coached her through this; she gives a brief report on her classes, and Wells returns the favor. He’s in law school, studying to become a public defender, which seems like a good fit for him. He’s been on a few dates with a new guy, and it’s going well.

“Did you give up and jump Bellamy yet?” he asks. “Or are you still worried he doesn’t want you to?”

Bellamy had stuck around off camera in case he needed to mouth answers at her, which means she gets to see him desperately trying not to make any noise as he chokes on the air.

It’s cute; she’s glad it’s going to work out for some version of them.

“I’m working on it,” she says. “This stuff takes time.”

“Yeah? I thought seven years was long enough.”

Her heart twists in her chest, just a little.

“Yeah, I think it probably is.”

*

“I don’t know what I’m going to do if I don’t just wake up back in my time tomorrow,” she admits to Bellamy.

“Yeah, I don’t really have a plan for how to teleport you across space and time. But if it lasts too long, we can ask Raven. If anyone knows, it’s her.”

“So that’s how it works here too?” she asks with a smile. “When in doubt, ask Raven?”

“The universal constant.” His own smile is shy and a little lopsided, so perfect. “Do you need anything? Water? White noise machine? A sleeping bag because so you can camp out in the park like you’re used to?”

“I’ll take the bed while I can get it.” She hesitates, but it’s easy to be honest with him, this no-risk version of her best friend. “I want one thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me. Just in case I never get another chance.”

Part of her expects him to say no, to tell her she _will_ , but he’s not her Bellamy. He knows this could be it.

“I think I won’t mind,” she adds. “I’ll understand.”

He snorts. “Yeah, I think I could explain that one.” 

It’s not exactly a yes, but it's close enough. He wets his lips, brushes a few strands of hair back from her face, a surreal echo of that touch six years ago, and then he leans in, kisses her so soft and sweet she barely feels it and still feels it too much.

“You’re going to see him again,” he tells her, with that familiar Bellamy conviction. “And he’s going to love you.”

“Thanks. For everything.”

“Don’t thank me yet. If you’re still here tomorrow, I’m making you come to the farmer’s market.” He kisses her again, just quick, before she can point out that the farmer’s market doesn’t sound so bad, compared to what she's used t0. “Get some sleep, Clarke.”

“Goodnight, Bellamy.”

“Goodnight.”

It’s not hard to fall asleep, thanks to the alcohol and the oddly exhausting sensation of worrying about life being so much less stressful than it should be. The bed is comfortable and her brain is apparently so overloaded it just shuts off entirely, and she's just as glad for that. The last thing she wanted was to stay awake all night worrying.

She knows as soon as she wakes up that she’s back in the rover, the lumpy, uncomfortable furs a huge relief. Madi’s there when she opens her eyes too, asleep and safe, and she lets out a long breath.

It probably wasn’t real, just some weird, too vivid dream. Maybe she has a fever. Maybe she accidentally ate some jobi nuts. 

At least she had good dreams this time.

When she stirs, Madi does too, and then she jerks awake, eyes wide and nervous.

"It's okay," Clarke reassures her. "Just me."

"Clarke?"

"Yeah."

She scrambles to sit up, still staring. "But-- _Clarke_. The right Clarke."

Her stomach drops like a stone. "The right Clarke," she repeats.

"I thought you must have hit your head," she says, cautious. "It was like you were a different person. Still Clarke, and you still knew me, but--"

"But I wasn't me," she says. "I know."

"You know?" Madi asks, wary.

As small, strange acts of magic go, it's not a bad one, not really. If there's another Clarke out there, at least she has another Bellamy, and he loves her, and if he remembers yesterday, he's going to tell her.

Things are going to be good for them. In some universe, they'll be happy. It's more than she thought she'd get.

She smiles at Madi, pulls her in for a quick hug. The provider of comfort again, and not the receiver, but she doesn't mind. This is where she belongs, where she needs to be.

"Yeah," she says. "Come on, let's find breakfast and I'll tell you all about it."

**Author's Note:**

> It's pretty likely this will get a follow up or two at some point, but not sure when.


End file.
